


folklore poems.

by sharkfish



Category: folklore - Taylor Swift (Album)
Genre: Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish
Summary: 16 song titles, 16 poems.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9





	1. THE ONE

**Author's Note:**

> i took the titles of the songs on _folklore_ and wrote my own poems to go with. some are fic and some are not.

> _photo is mine // taken somewhere near bastrop, texas, at the lost pines forest_

_**THE ONE** _

hemingway said one true sentence  
would be enough, but he never told  
the secret of what it was.

i’ve been searching my whole life for  
the one truest thing, the part that rises  
out of the ashes of my heart like a  
phoenix whose tears can heal.

the one thing i do know is you should  
see me for who i am, you should  
know what has happened,  
because we’ve got work to do.


	2. CARDIGAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an spn poem.

_**CARDIGAN** _

a jug of vinegar above the washing  
machine, cups and cups for   
blood-stained clothes to soak in.  
your favorite cardigan. his favorite  
jeans. a t-shirt with the logo of some  
shitty place you had breakfast together  
on the endless road. 

another hunt, another gallon of vinegar  
to erase what the two of you have done.


	3. THE LAST GREAT AMERICAN DYNASTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> referenced: 
> 
> [_what's genocide_ by carlos andrés gómez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qnl_zG2KwR0)
> 
> [_black stacey_ by saul williams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRsgavuG4sg)
> 
> [untitled anti-war freestyle by saul williams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkxV3LSCwUU)

_**THE LAST GREAT AMERICAN DYNASTY** _

when carlos told his class about genocide, he  
talked about the parts that aren’t all murder,  
the ghettos long before the gas chambers, the trail  
of tears and reservations, the imperialists  
separating a peaceful people into enemies  
based on the size of their noses, carlos  
told his class about whitening cream, the  
erasure of your own skin like you can’t ever  
belong in it, and saul changed me at  
fourteen years old, the first poet i ever  
loved, i didn’t know the right question to  
ask but he answered, i sang black stacey at  
full volume in my shitty car and tried to wrap  
my head around it, i’ve spent every day since trying  
to expect more from myself, i’ve spent every  
day since with my heart thrumming the beat of  
not in my name. not in my life. not by my hands.  
and hoping some day, the american dynasty  
will be a history lesson carlos has to teach  
that means as little to his students as napoleon,  
short men trying to make themselves taller and failing  
in the cold dead of winter.


	4. EXILE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a walking dead poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: spoiler for event that i'm still weeping about in season 8

**_EXILE_ **

i waited as long as i could.  
i said my goodbyes, made my  
amends, pressed painted handprints  
onto the deck of a house i knew  
wouldn’t last long, hoping my sister  
would hold them in her mind. hoping  
she would remember my name. i gave  
her the hat i’d worn since _before_  
transitioned into _now._

i wrote letters so i wouldn’t forget   
all the right words or all the things i  
wanted to say to the people i called  
home, and even the one i didn’t.  
dear dad. dear mom. dear sister.  
dear villain. 

i didn’t know he was a doctor when  
i put myself in the line of fire for him.  
i was happy to die for a stranger. it’s  
what my father taught me: selfless in   
the face of danger, ready to place myself  
between person and death.

i didn’t know he was a doctor, but   
it was the right thing to do, because now  
there’s a list of names of people who   
lived because of him. some of them were   
my family. some of them would’ve been,  
in a different world. 

i’m sorry i never said the important things  
before the _after._ i’m sorry for the time there  
was another man i pretended was my father. i’m  
sorry for every time i pulled the trigger. i’m sorry  
i made things harder sometimes. i’m sorry i wasn’t  
good enough to keep living. i’m sorry i left. 

i always thought one of the questions should be  
 _how many people have you saved?_ and i’m not  
sorry that i could have answered: more than i  
can count.


	5. MY TEARS RICOCHET

_**MY TEARS RICOCHET** _

there were days when my eyes  
shot bullets, lead sent to bloom like  
a falcon made of death in your  
heart. 

there were days when my eyes  
cried acid, a splash of scars across  
your face like boiling water left on a   
hot stove. 

there were days when my eyes  
whispered poetry, sprinkled letters  
all over the sidewalk in front of your  
childhood home. 

there were days when my eyes  
cried blood, not the kind blessed  
by god but the kind that reminded you  
of your own guilt. 

there were days when my eyes  
shot bullets even when i asked  
them not to, even when you said  
you still loved me.


	6. MIRRORBALL

_**MIRRORBALL** _

there’s nothing familiar  
in mirrors. no friendly monsters  
reflecting in lake water, no  
windows showing the ghost   
of a smile. blind to your  
own face, do you know who  
you are? do you know what  
has happened to you?


	7. SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a poem about writing.

_**SEVEN** _

i was seven —   
or maybe eight, time can  
be such a lie, the flat circle  
of year after year circling  
the drain —   
when i wrote my first story. 

it was about how wishes are  
horses. it was about being  
chased by fire. it was about  
loss. it’s been following me ever  
since, the wolves of all the  
characters i let down looking  
for blood. 

i keep saying, _you wrote your own  
story. it wasn’t me. the words  
came from my fingertips but they  
were built by you._

i didn’t plan that conversation, that  
look, that thing about you no one  
knew until now, the way you smile when  
you think about something that makes  
you happy, i didn’t plan the rorschach   
splash of tattoos across your ribs,   
i never meant for your story to be   
so many goddamn words, they keep  
spilling like a well of ink that may   
have been my heart. 

the story may be good, but darling,  
it wasn’t me who wrote it.


	8. AUGUST

_**AUGUST** _

one year i drove a dodge colt,  
a year younger than me, worth  
less than the saddle i carried in  
the trunk. the saddle was a crosby and  
it’s still in my closet, though it will   
never again be the right size.

in the mornings i left for class,  
listening to the decemberists or   
three dog night, _with the rain of  
shambala._ in the mornings i stopped  
to say hi to my mare, a red ball  
of fight and love named after the  
tears of a a goddess grieving for  
the stars. i still prefer chestnuts.  
sorrel, they say some places. 

the late summer days were always  
too beautiful to waste in a classroom.  
there was a rock or maybe a log out  
in the pasture, just tall enough for me  
to swing onto her back, just denim   
between us, and sometimes that was  
enough and sometimes i opened up  
that worthless hatchback and out  
came my tack, the comforting ritual  
of grooming, blanket, saddle, bridle,  
which went bit first, pull over the  
ears, chin and throatlatch straps loose   
enough to fit two fingers underneath,  
reins over her head, and then you tighten   
the girth and pull down the stirrups on leathers   
that didn’t match the saddle, and there was  
so much world to explore with the thump-  
thump of her bare feet on asphalt. 

at the end of the semester, i doctored  
my grade card so mom wouldn’t know  
what i was really doing all those  
late summer mornings.


	9. THIS IS ME TRYING

_**THIS IS ME TRYING** _

this is me trying,  
knowing i’ll never get it right  
knowing i’ll never measure up.


	10. ILLICIT AFFAIRS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a poem about goldenraeofsun's [head down, walk with reason.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21090080/chapters/50178152)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: i have also posted this one separately in order to use the "inspired by" feature.

_**ILLICIT AFFAIRS** _

you weren’t anything but a crown  
and a name, someone to be  
owned but not belonged. they taught  
you to silence your own self and  
keep your eyes down. you taught  
yourself that if you weren’t seen, you  
were invisible, and you knew how to run. 

you were promised to a prince, but  
loved by an outlaw with a smear of mud  
on his cheek. a kind and gentle man,  
who did his best to find invisibility when  
all he could really be is seen. you stopped  
looking at anything else but spring green and  
fawn gold. 

your heart said _i love you_ and it said  
_i can’t go back_ and it said _you’re so  
beautiful but nothing about me is quite  
what you think._ your brain said _they’ll  
find you._ your brain said _when it all ends,  
it will be my fault._ your heart said, _take  
me wherever you go._ or better yet, _come_  
_with me wherever i go. let me be something  
other than metal and jewels._

still, your mouth never said, _my name is castiel._


	11. INVISIBLE STRING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a charlie kelly poem.

_**INVISIBLE STRING** _

fishing lure instead of red  
strings to show the connections,  
so that you can think outside   
of them. so that you can see the  
whole picture, letter after letter,  
a conspiracy told in a list of  
addresses all leading to the  
same place. 

you found the source, except  
the source doesn’t exist either.   
they call you mad. they call you  
insane. they look at you as if you  
believe the earth ends in the horizon  
but this isn’t that. these are leads and   
crimes, loves and lies. it all ends  
with carol, who may not be a   
real person, or at least not from  
this universe. 

you’re right on the cusp of discovery,  
someone who can see all the things  
others can’t. you can see her for  
who she is, and you’ve got work  
to do.


	12. MAD WOMAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content note: references to suicide

_**MAD WOMAN** _

it will be quiet.  
madness is the tick-tock of a clock  
on the wall. madness is a gasp  
in the middle of the night. madness  
is the bit-lip of blood welling to  
make you well. 

it will be quiet.  
that’s how women do it.  
the final silence, legs in  
shatters like a mermaid with  
her voice stolen. it’s men with  
the guns and explosions. it’s  
men who splatter gore across  
the walls for other people to  
clean up. that always seemed  
so inconsiderate, like you haven’t  
left enough pain behind, now  
someone is wearing a hazmat suit  
and scrubbing the walls in  
your apartment. 

it will be quiet.  
sadness is a hush like a swallowed  
whisper. sadness is a hundred  
poems. sadness is running out  
of words to say or to write or  
to think or to feel. sadness is  
not feeling anything at all. 

it will be quiet.  
someone keeps insisting that  
everything will be ok, maybe when  
my hands get warm, maybe when  
the world is less scary, maybe when  
the pills kick in, maybe when,  
maybe when, i’ll step out from  
the silence.


	13. EPIPHANY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tiffany aching poem.

_**EPIPHANY** _

when i was nine years old, i grabbed  
an iron skillet and learned about  
magic, which isn’t what you think  
it is at all. there aren’t any sparks or  
special words or silly tricks. my hands  
heal because i know the right herbs and  
the right words are just the regular kind  
of comfort and the trick is to make  
everyone think you have it all under  
control, because most days you do. 

i keep my hands washed  
and speak carefully.  
_this,_ i say, _is not a warning._  
_this,_ i say, _is a forecast._  
i’m powered by my own belief that  
i’m the most terrifying one on these  
hills. granny took the hands of the  
reaper and so now it’s up to me. i’ve never  
said no to a challenge. 

these are my hills, i say,  
and harm will not visit here.  
the chalk is under the protection of  
my wing, and i don't accept _you can’t_  
for an answer. 

if you want a show, go see a wizard.


	14. BETTY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a grey's anatomy poem.

_**BETTY** _

betty wasn’t even her real name  
because no one age fifteen is named  
betty, you never got the chance to ask  
her why she would choose this one,  
other than it started and ended with the  
truth. betty named her baby after  
an actor who was a heartthrob  
back when you were her age. 

betty scratched at the inside of  
her elbow every time she saw  
a needle. betty disappeared and  
came back for buttered toast and  
then disappeared again and came  
back for the love and disappeared  
again and came back with the  
truth of all her lies in tow. betty asked  
you not to tell her parents, and  
they blame you for that, like you  
could’ve ever known about the broken  
hearts she left back home, back before  
she knew the itch in her teeth, back  
before she went shopping for horses  
on the street every night. 

you both knew loss too soon. in no  
world should a kid get knocked up by  
the drugslinger trying to keep her  
just alive enough to buy another hit.  
just alive enough to offer something  
other than money when the cash dried  
up. just alive enough for her to leave  
her baby at the door of the firestation  
because she heard once that’s a safe  
place to leave the child she wasn’t  
prepared to care for, because she knew  
she couldn’t even care for herself. 

you hope she’s better now, the haunting  
of a girl with a name that starts with _b_  
and ends with _y,_ you hope she finally  
started collecting chips and goes to her  
meetings and lets her dad make her toast  
with strawberry jam like when she was a kid  
and lets her mom hug her when things  
are just too hard because sometimes love  
can be addictive too.


	15. PEACE

_**PEACE** _

do you know who you are?  
do you know what has happened  
to you? will you ever remember  
what happens at a meadow  
at dusk, will you ever be able  
to get back on your feet, will  
you ever put on your boots and  
tromp among the wildflowers,  
will you ever know a long drive  
or a short kiss or lips against  
your ear saying _beloved,_ will  
you even remember the things  
you’ve lost 

do you know who you  
are, do you know what  
has happened to you?


	16. HOAX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a grey's anatomy poem.

_**HOAX** _

the hoax is who you told yourself  
you are, an outlaw among healers,   
like you’ve been swimming with nessie  
your whole life. like your eyes don’t   
soften in the dark when a woman  
looks like she might love you, right   
before you grab your jeans and go back  
to your lonely apartment to hope for  
a couple hours of dreams for  
something better. 

the hoax is who they say you are,  
bloody knuckles and black eyes, a boy  
never seen with a book in his hands,  
and maybe they wouldn’t believe if   
they heard you now hold babies to  
your chest all night, share your heartbeat  
when their mothers can’t, like love  
can be medicine all on its own. 

the hoax is that no one ever held you  
to their chest. you never knew the heartbeat  
of someone else against your ear as a   
child. the hoax is saying that you did,   
because you hate the way faces turn  
pinched and pitying when they hear

_foster homes because mom was too crazy_   
_and siblings were too needy and i did my_   
_best but sometimes people just fail and the_   
_failure was me, watch me swimming across_   
_the loch in the midnight hours, hoping_   
_i don’t drown._

**Author's Note:**

> [sharkfish on tumblr](http://sharkfish.tumblr.com)


End file.
